


end male privilege

by Julx3tte



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Pool Noodles, Sexual Humor, just dumb late night things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24657826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julx3tte/pseuds/Julx3tte
Summary: a series of drabbles and crack fics around sylvgrid
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 73
Kudos: 43
Collections: The Pool Noodle Collective





	1. Chapter 1

“Fuck male privilege!” Ingrid yelled, pointing a particularly pink pool noodle right at Felix’s face.

“I-” Felix had a hand to his temple, as if it would stop the aneurysm he could feel popping any moment now, “You can’t blame male privilege for stupid ideas.”

Annette walked into the room as Felix was swiping the noodle away.

“Technically, you can. Men get away with stupid ideas all the time,” she chimed, tossing a bowl of popcorn. “They don’t get punished for it.”

“Fuck male privilege!” Ingrid yelled, louder. She was in the process of assembling pool noodles around each of her limbs. Mercedes was kindly holding duct tape to hold them all together.

“Ingrid, male privilege isn’t the reason you keep shaking the tape off,” she quipped. Ingrid immediately calmed.

“Sorry Mercie,” she pouted. “Fuck male privilege,” she whispered instead.

“Look, I agree. Fuck male privilege. But what does male privilege have to do with becoming the iron man of pool noodles,” Dimitri asked from the couch. He, Dedue, and Ashe were piled up on the small loveseat. The other two were on their smartphones, but Dimitri watched as the process of creating pool noodle armor continued.

“That’s because you have male privilege,” Ingrid responded. Now, both Mercedes and Annette were helping her fasten pool noodles to her torso.

“Does wearing the armor help?” Dimitri asked, furrowing his brows.

“Male privilege is your armor,” both Mercedes and Annette chimed. Ingrid held a piece of tape in her mouth and mumbled along.

“I’ll shut up now,” Dimitri said. “Where is Sylvain, anyway?”

“Felix, who had finally calmed down, snapped his head and tried to shush Dimitri. He was too late.

“He,” Ingrid said, wrapping a full pool noodle (this one green) around her neck and taping it down to the foam attached to her torso, “is why this is happening.”

“Oh - because he has male privilege?” Dimitri said. Around him was the collective sigh between Ashe and Dedue, as well as Felix’s not-so-subtle bashing of his head against the wall.

“Yes!” Ingrid exclaimed, hand in the air. It would have been a fist, but she had taped a pool noodle-sword around her arm, and had pool noodle bracers around her forearms.

“Wait, but how do pool noodles bring an end to male privilege,” he asked. 

“--Please shut up,” Felix glared.

“--That’s a good point Dimitri,” Ashe finally chimed at the same time as Felix.

“Simple. He’s in the pool right now. I’m going to jump off the roof and cannon ball him.”

“That doesn’t…” Dimitri began, but caught the combined glare warning him not to ask any more from both Annette and Mercedes, stopped. “Right, so we better sunscreen your face just in case right?” 

“Fuck male privilege,” Dedue said, monotone, as Dimitri got up to help.

Sylvain, hair damp and wearing only swim trunks, chose the wrong time to walk into the room.

Ingrid turned on him in an instant, and the others took hurried steps backwards to watch.

“YOU!”

Sylvain ran as soon as she turned, prompting Ingrid to chase. The pool noodle armor broke immediately. Stray noodles stuck on her legs, and she left a trail of taped together noodles in her wake, snaking after her.

“Better go make sure no one slips by the pool,” Mercedes said, gesturing at the rest of the Lions to follow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the gang go to group therapy (waiting room)

“How can I help you si-” the receptionist began to say, until she looked up. “Oh.”

The door chimed when it opened, and the Blue Lions filtered into the room. Dimitri, beaming, walked right up to the receptionist. Ashe and Felix took seats, while Annette looked around at the boring-yet-relaxing decor of the waiting room. Mercedes waited patiently by the door. 

“We’re here for a group appointment, “Dimitri said.

Ingrid and Sylvain looked sheepishly at each other.

“Yes, that much is clear.” the receptionist picked up the phone. “The, erm, king is here to see you,” she said, immediately going back to her paperwork.

The pause before “king” soured Dimitri’s mood. 

By now, everyone but Felix had found a seat. There were 8 of them, but only 7 seats. 

“Where am I supposed to sit,” Dimitri asked. 

“Nowhere. We’ll probably go inside in like 20 seconds,” said Felix. “Just chill.”

Dimitri rolled his eyes. 

“You could sit with Dedue,” chimed Ashe, trying to be useful.

“What do I look like, Ingrid to you?” he quipped back.

Sylvain was sitting on Ingrid’s lap.

“Uh, I meant the other wa-”

“I know what you meant!”

Sylvian made a face. It looked like he wanted to pull his knees up to his chest, but knew he couldn’t balance on Ingrid’s lap if he did. “I happen to be very comfortable sitting, unlike some people.”

Ingrid, who was humming a song, wrapped her arms around him protectively. “Stop being mean Dimitri,” she said.

“Fine. I’ll chill.”

Dimitri leaned against the wall and pulled out his phone. The rest followed suit. Mercedes pulled out a book, and Dedue and Ashe started working on a sudoku book. The two of them were racing, so Annette watched.

Felix stared right up at the ceiling.

They were quiet for about 30 seconds until Sylvain took the opportunity to lean back further on Ingrid’s lap, knocking her off balance. She corrected, but not before using an arm to catch herself. The arm hit Felix, who was next to her, who glared.

“What is  _ wrong _ with you two?” he asked, face bearing disgust at their too public signs of affection.

“It’s called  _ love, _ ” Sylvain replied. “You should try it.”

Annette came to his defense. “We’ve made love before,” she said, trying to be helpful. “Don’t say such mean things.”

Felix went doe eyed. Everyone tried to carry on with their activities, but Annette, who’d realized what she said, withdrew from the conversation.

“Glad we cleared that up,” Ingrid said, snickering.

“We do need therapy,” Felix said, resigned. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hanging out

“Hey Syl?” She was hanging upside down from a tree, using her hands to keep her skirt from falling. 

“Yeah Ing?” He didn’t even bother to look. Sylvain was sitting on a lawn chair and tilted his head back just far enough to see the top of the tree behind him.

“Throw me a can of tea?”

“Sure.” He walked over to the small cooler they had out and tossed a can up behind him, hoping she’d track it.

He turned around just in time to see her sit up, still using her legs to hang from the branch, and grab the tea out of the air. He turned away before the skirt fell.

Ingrid shrugged as best as she could upside down. 

“I don’t mind, you know,” she said, opening the tea, also upside down. She pondered how she’d drink it, and let some pour down onto the ground, gauging whether she could catch the stream. 

Her first attempt failed.

“But I do.” Sylvain crossed his arms for emphasis, before realizing she couldn’t really see him hmphh at her.

Ingrid didn’t reply - she busied herself with getting a drink of her tea. After a few moments of silence, Sylvain turned to make sure Ingrid was doing fine.

Which she was - except that her cheeks were flush from hanging upside down, and she had given up wrangling her skirt.

He went wide eyed following her legs, starting at her bent knees and strong quads holding her against the tree. 

“Maybe I should join you…” he said, resigned. 

“I’m telling you it’s fine. Not like I’m wearing anything scandalous.” Ingrid was pleased she finally got a system for drinking upside down working.

“Still it feels kind of…”

“Look, you can come take your pants off and sit upside down next to me if you want,” she said.

“Does that even… is that even equivalent?” He was in the process of climbing the tree. It wasn’t very tall, but still took finding the right footing.

“You tell me Sylvain,” she said, shrugging again.

“How can you be so nonchalant about all of this,” Sylvain said, climbing up next to her. 

“Maybe because I’m getting what I want,” she replied. 

“And what is that?” He dropped and hung upside down next to her.

Ingrid looked over to her side. Sylvain’s loose shirt was pooling, and she raised her eyebrows at his abs.

“That looks uncomfortable,” she said, pointing at the shirt.

“You are incorrigible,” Sylvain replied. He let the shirt fall to the ground, leaving him shirtless. 

“If I was, you wouldn’t be wearing pants either,” Ingrid said offhandedly, finishing off her can of tea and watching him strain to keep himself upside down.

“You’d think this would be easier considering I ride horses,” he said. He was too tall - his legs had trouble wrapping properly around the tree branch.

“Hey Syl,” Ingrid said, purposefully ignoring that he was having trouble and therefore was starting to sweat a little.

“Yeah Ing?” he replied, trying to keep his voice cool.

“I’m getting hungry,” she said, then promptly flipped off the branch and onto her feet. “I’m gonna make food while you hang out.”

Ingrid plopped a soft kiss on his cheek and walked away.


	4. disguise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout nightsdawn for the name

The first thought Sylvain had was that the newcomer was way too handsome for his own good.

The second was that his hair was gorgeous. Better than Dimitri’s really. Sylvain thought it, then said it.

“Hey Dima, the new guy’s hair is better than yours!”

“Not all blondes compete, Sylvain. We aren’t redheads,” Dimitri replied, yelling across the room.

“Bro… we’re literally in an eating competition,” Sylvain replied, rolling his eyes.

Garreg Mach Eating Corps. was an annual badge of honor for the men of Garreg Mach. The best of the best came to play.

Dimitri and Claude stared each other down at the end of the table.

Caspar, too, though he was mostly glaring at his food rather than his opponents.

Raphael, who was last year’s winner, was to Sylvain’s left pumping himself up, and the newcomer was to his right.

He didn’t say anything. Just stared blankly at the giant plate of noodles in front of him and waited for the competition to begin.

The other competitors were trash talking -- but Sylvain was intrigued. 

First, who wears their hair down during an eating competition? It went down about ear length and was neatly tucked away.

Second, who wore such heavy clothes to an eating competition? Most of the other guys wore tank tops or big shirts that could handle the food spillage, but he wore a heavy sweater.

The nameplate said “Logan.” Sylvain didn’t know a Logan at Garreg Mach.

“Ready!?” yelled Ferdinand, who was the judge/MC for the event this year.

Sylvain looked over one more time. “Logan” had a scornful look on his face - it was terrifying. 

“SET!” 

Their eyes met. Somehow, “Logan”’s eyes looked even shadier.

“EAT!!!””

Sylvain gorged himself on plate after plate. He knew he wouldn’t win - but he could give Claude and Dimitri a run for their money and put pressure on Raphael next to him. He slurped noodle after noodle, washing it down with sauce.

Sylvain didn’t really love eating this much, but it was an excuse to have fun with the boys and get away from girls all the time.

So, down the food went for a nearly excruciating fifteen minutes. He was so focused that he didn’t realize, a few minutes in, that the crowd had stopped cheering.

With a minute left, and his capacity tapped, he slowed down enough to realize what was going on.

Raphael had eaten nearly a dozen bowls, leading Caspar by one. He, Dimitri, and Claude were sitting around eight or nine.

But “Logan” was at fifteen and closing in on a sixteenth.

It was absolutely disgusting. Food disappeared down his mouth. Sylvain had never seen anything like it.

Except…

He stopped eating for hte final thirty seconds, realization coming to him.

“Logan” wasn’t Logan at all. His hair was freshly cut, and the baggy clothing helped cover up something else.

He was just about to point and yell when the audience exploded into cheers. In the final minute, “Logan” finished two more bowls off, setting a new record of eighteen.

Raphael looked defeated, and the rest looked in awe.

Before Ferdinand could crown the winner, Logan stole the mic from him.

“THE ONLY REASON YOU DON’T LET WOMEN IN TO THESE COMPETITIONS IS BECAUSE YOU’D ALL LOSE,” he said, voice suspiciously high.

Sylvain would have let it be chalked up to excitement until “Logan” removed his sweater, revealing a t-shirt with Ingrid’s face on it, and the text “FUCK MALE PRIVILEGE” written around it.

The crowd gaped in recognition. 

“YOU CUT YOUR HAIR TO PROVE A POINT!?” Sylvain yelled.

“Jealous?” Ingrid asked, winking.


	5. cosmos and coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff is back on the menu

“Sylvain,” Felix greeted, face blank, cosmo in hand.

“Felix,” Sylvain responded, winking at the man.

“Don’t,” Felix said, cutting Sylvain off as he opened his mouth. “I know why you’re here.”

Sylvain pouted.

“You’re being dumb and you should just ask her.”

At the mention of  _ her _ , Sylvain took a long gulp of his beer.

“How do you know what I was going to ask you?!?”

“Idiot, you don’t think Annette told me?” As if it were obvious.

“But I never asked her.”

“No, but you asked Byleth, who told Dimitri, who told Annette.” Felix was doing his best to pretend that the long game of telephone was perfectly normal. Sylvain, however, could see the cracks in his best friend’s face.

“Who told you,” Sylvian responded, deadpan.

Felix grinned. Sylvain noticed, suddenly, the two other empty cocktail glasses on the bar behind Felix. 

“Look Sylvain,” he began, clapping the taller man on the shoulder. “Actually you know what, tell me what Byleth said first.”

“Uhhhhh”

Sylvain recollected earlier in the week when he’d asked Byleth for coffee:

“Sylvain,” said Byleth, taking a sip of her macchiato. She was wearing a plain black shirt that said,  _ end male privilege _ in white font. 

“Hi prof,” he said cheerfully. Today he’d ordered a cold brew with plenty of cream, at the recommendation of the cute bartender. 

“So,” she said, putting down her cup and pressing her fingertips against the other hand’s fingertips, as if she were a villain.

“Why do you look like an evil mastermind?”

“Maybe because you’re about to ask me to mastermind something for you,” she replied.

“Okay… Well you’re right.”

“So what can I do for you Sylvain?”

Sylvain suddenly sat up straighter, as if he were at an interview. Byleth rolled her eyes.

“Should I ask Ingrid out?”

Byleth started to raise a hand to her head in incredulity, but stopped herself. “That’s why you asked me for coffee?”

Sylvain looked around the coffee shop. It was empty.

“Did you… thinking this was a date…” he said, awkwardly.

“No, idiot, but I thought it’d be more important than that.”

Sylvain was shocked. “This is the most important thing in my life how could you think that?”

Byleth rolled her eyes again. “It’s the most obvious thing in your life Sylvain.”

A realization hit him. “Oh.”

“Anyway, go ahead, tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Okay, well it started when….”

Sylvain had droned on, but Felix waved his hand in front of Sylvain’s face to get his attention back.

Felix looked like he was in the middle of an internal debate. 

“Okay look Sylvain. You know I care about Ingrid.”

“Uh-huh…” He wasn’t sure where Felix was going, but it probably was important. 

“I’d stab a man that tried to mess with her, you know that.”

“I would too…” Sylvain nodded.

“Look… ah, dammit.” Felix finished his cosmo and looked Sylvain right in the eyes. It looked like he was about to cry. Just the look on his face alone made Sylvain almost want to cry.

“Ingrid’s already dated one of my brothers. She may as well be with the other.”

It was close to an admission of love that Felix could offer, and he turned away, obviously hiding his tears. Sylvian, however, had no shame and trapped the other man into a hug.

“Thanks Fel.”


	6. (nsfw warning)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> owo?

“Why,” Ingrid said, burying her face in her hands.

“Oh, don’t tell me you suddenly don’t like it,” Sylvain replied. He tilted his head back as he rolled his eyes, and the bunny ears on his head wouldn’t stop wobbling.

“I never liked it Sylvain!” Ingrid peeked at him from behind her fingers. He was nearly naked, except for a tight pair of black briefs and a set of bunny ears attached to his head via headband. It was embarrassing, yet oddly arousing. 

Sylvain’s body was worthy of being savored. His gym ethic led to an incredibly cut stomach, and Ingrid always just wanted to run her hands on his abs. It didn’t help that his chest and shoulders looked strong enough that his hugs were always a little too enjoyable.

Thank  _ god _ he wasn’t wearing anything stupid on the bottom half of his body.

Seeing him so unclothed during the day really wasn’t anything to complain about.

Except for the damn bunny ears.

It started as a joke - a dumb one about him being more like a pet and serving at her whims, and this is what it’d become. 

Now he was gyrating his hips to entice her to join him on the bed, but the bunny ears moved to the same rhythm, and it was horribly distracting.

Staring at his briefs was one thing. They hugged Sylvain’s waist nicely and Ingrid’s face burned just thinking about how they must feel against Sylvain’s hips, who was clearly amused at her hesitation. 

But if any kind of sexual activity was going to happen tonight, they were going to have to come off - ears and underwear. Ingrid hoped bargaining would be the winning strategy.

“Sylvain,” she said as she started walking sensually from the door towards the bed, “I need a little help getting undressed.”

Ingrid tried to keep her voice as seductive as possible, but as Sylvain shifted off the bed to stand, she couldn’t help but laugh

Sylvain passed her a confused look. “What’s so funny,” he asked, before getting down on his knees.

Ingrid couldn’t help the flutter in her voice as Sylvain’s hands trailed up her calves, up the back of her thighs, and ended by cupping her butt. She inadvertently clenched her legs together, and Sylvain noticed.

“Can’t get you naked if you’re not relaxed you know,” he teased.

“I am relaxed, you’re just really distracting.”

“I know,” he said, pulling her pants down and pressing a kiss to the front of her hip. She could feel the heat from where his lips had been spreading through her core. “Let’s get you taken care of.”


	7. roar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is sunni's fault for writing dog au

Hunting hyenas wasn’t Ingrid’s favorite chore, but the necessity of protecting the pride came far above her preferences. So Ingrid went. Dimitri had sent her on a mission to kill a small camp of them out by the border of the desert.

The heat radiating from the sand was intense - Ingrid could feel the pads of her paws cooking, though she knew that the skin there was calloused enough to be fine. She could deal with discomfort - what she couldn’t deal with is returning home empty pawed.

She hoped it would be a quick ordeal. She’d been swarmed by Hyenas before and it took weeks before she could fight again, even with Mercedes’ balms. 

The camp in question was scarce - barely even a place fit for sleeping. The bones of some unfortunate birds and other scavenged prey scattered the floor. Ingrid got close enough to see them before pressing her body lower to the ground. She needed more information before fighting.

She smelled three hyenas in the camp, and the scent of a few more led towards her. Enough time to kill three, though even those weren’t the best odds if they were awake. Thankfully she’d already killed two on the way here - five on one wouldn’t end well for her.

Ingrid wished they had more to spare, but the Blue Lions were short on lionesses these days. Byleth was still missing, and Flayn had been swept away by her brother for safekeeping shortly after. Between her and Annette, there was too much work and too little strength. 

It was good that the war had stalled. 

There were enough rocks between her and the sleeping hyenas to sneak between, so Ingrid crept just until she could smell the disgusting hyena odor. Then she pounced.

The first one stood no chance - Ingrid was stronger and faster and her paw on its neck was sufficient. The second managed to open its eyes before Ingrid killed it.

The third, though, was wise enough to run. It built up a lead, trying to run to its compatriots before Ingrid could catch it. Despite her longer legs, the hyena’s zig-zags made it hard to follow.

It wouldn’t be the end of the world if it escaped, but it would mean another trek out to the desert, another day Annette or Mercedes would have to stay awake to watch the cubs, and another day they couldn’t move closer to Garreg Mach.

She was just about to save her energy for another day when she heard a familiar roar.

Just on the horizon, the lone hyena flew into the air, hit by something large and strong. A second later, she saw another lion leap into the air and sink its jaws right into the hyena’s guts, throwing the corpse aside. 

Its mane glistened red with the fresh kill, and Ingrid stopped short as she realized who it was.

Sylvain had returned. He roared at her from the distance, and the familiar sound soothed Ingrid into stretching her back.

“Hey Ing,” said Sylvain, nuzzling her with the top of his forehead. “Miss me?”


	8. baguettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> baguettes and ingrid are like peanut butter and jelly
> 
> blame emu and mish for daring me and trix for saying it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trixstarToday at 10:43 PM  
> Sleepwalking ingrid accidentally taking a bite of her baguette pillow
> 
> trixstarToday at 10:43 PM  
> When she wakes up there is just  
> Stuffing everywhere

Emotional support items are something Ingrid has plenty of. Sylvain knows this. From the bear socks in college, several stolen hoodies (which are the bane of his existence, though he’d learned to buy extra ones and hide them from her), and even the stash of emergency chocolate she keeps in the back of the freezer…

But nothing out of the decade of experience prepares him for the sight in their apartment.

Ingrid, wearing her hot dog pajamas (thankfully a profile view; one leg was a bun and the other the wiener), walks into the living room and bumps into a wall.

Sylvain’s just about to say something when he realizes that she’s holding a massive baguette. 

He blinks as Ingrid turns the corner. Her arms are wrapped around it like it, and her cheek is nuzzling the side of it, and she stops just short of the refrigerator and stops moving.

It’s not a big apartment. Just a hallway with two doors to their bedrooms and a bathroom in between, a turn, and their mixed living room/kitchen all in one square box. So when Sylvain realizes that Ingrid is walking around still asleep, he wonders what the hell she’s done to herself this time.

Ingrid sleepwalking is a rare but dangerous sight. The last time, it took Felix and Dimitri carrying her by the limbs and Sylvain sitting on her to get her to stop digging into Dimitri’s pantry looking for chocolate.

It also only happens when something has gone horribly wrong. 

Still, Sylvain’s eye twitches when he realizes that the giant baguette is actually a dakimakura.

Look, he wasn’t judging. Plenty of their friends owned dakimurakas and a few of them dared to put pretty pictures of anime people on the pillowcase.

But… a baguette? 

Maybe he should be checking on Ingrid’s mental state more. Exams are kicking his ass, too, and he’s spent most nights in the library or over at Dimitri’s to study, which left Ingrid alone at their place. He’s never seen the baguette before, which means Ingrid has recently bought it.

Sylvain sighs and stands and puts his arms out to help guide Ingrid back to her room when she collapses.

Collapses is not the right word, he thinks. She slides down, back against the refrigerator, and holds the giant baguette pillow in her hands as if it were a baby.

Sylvain stops short, finds his phone to text Felix and Dimitri for a level 3 emergency, when he hears a suspicious tearing sound.

He looks up to see Ingrid tearing into the baguette pillow with her teeth. She takes massive bites, ripping right through the fabric until the pillow’s stuffing is exposed.

Sylvain pivots, switching to Snapchat and recording the whole thing, making sure to save the original video before sending it to the Blue Lions group chat.

_ Ingrid’s on the mend y’all. _

_ Dima is typing... _

_ fel is typing... _

_ Ashelandicus is typing… _

_ netteflixandchill is typing… _

_ mercieme69 is typing.... _

_ dedoodoo is typing... _

The video showed Ingrid, holding her baby-baguette-pillow out, rubbing her forehead against it before taking a massive glomp, spitting out stuffing and rubbing the exposed section of the pillow against her neck.

_ Dima - do u need us to come over? _

_ Fel - dear lord  _

_ Ashelandicus - that’s… not healthy _

_ netteflixandchill is typing - should i come over tomorrow _

_ mercieme69 is typing - prayingforu _

_ dedoodoo is typing - You should probably help her. _

Sylvain watches a few more moments before plucking the baguette pillow from Ingrid’s hands. She frowns terribly, and sylvain almost feels bad before he takes her hand and leads her back to bed, where he throws the baguette and waits for her to climb in and fall asleep again.

He sighs. He’s going to wake up to a very angry yell, and he needed to prepare for the fallout. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	9. just rich bastard things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for andi, who was slain by the sylvgrid server on 3, august 2020.

Of all the rich bastard things Sylvain is fond of (those are Ingrid’s words, not his), only whiskey is worth savoring. The rest are experiences to be bought, clothes to be used, time to be spent.

The taste of good whiskey - good whiskey from just outside Blaiddyd, left to age in casks older than he was, served in a simple glass out of a bottle adorned better than most women’s necks - is his favorite. Few other things give him the feeling of warmth spreading through his chest and a hurried burn in his stomach.

Ingrid’s just returned home from a trip to the capital and he can already feel the glowing of his chest, the way his breath turns shallow. He’s wrapped his feet in the bedsheets and is waiting for the moment the door bursts open and he catches the first glimpses of her hair.

He twists his grip on the blanket lying at his side in anticipation. 

He loves whiskey - loves the smoke and the burn, the way his mouth tastes like pepper and fire. He loves the woody scent, the feel of a heavy glass in his hand as a rare treat for a task well done, or a moment worth celebrating.

But there is one thing he loves more than the finest things Faerghus has to offer.

The door opens gently, spilling the warm orange of the castle’s torchlight into their bedroom. The window is beaming gold, and the combination of the soft flickers and the powerful rays landing just on the first tuft of blonde that precedes his wife is breathtaking.

Sylvain rises immediately, striding to the door, and Ingrid barely manages to step in before he’s arrived in front of her, hands reaching to cup the sides of her face, drawing her into his kiss.

Of all the things of the earth, kissing Ingrid is the finest.

Ingrid drops her bags and follows along as he leads them to the bed. Her hands, now free, hold him at the waist, expecting his maneuver.

Sylvain all but tosses them both onto the bed until he’s laying above her, legs tangled, eyes locked. There’s a faint pink blush on her face and a grin that told him she knew he’d missed her too much to let her return without this.

Sylvain cups her chin gently with his fingers before gently pushing her on the shoulder until she is laying flat against the bed, and then he kisses her. Ingrid has a moment to laugh before their lips meet and the tip of his tongue slides gently along her bottom lip

Ingrid always smells like mint and strawberries, and sometimes like the dirt that grows them. She has always taken part of the earth with her when she flies, infused with its essence. 

In exchange, she offers the intoxication that comes with the sky. The feeling of his feet being lifted off the ground, of watching everything he knows shrink until all that’s left of his world is Ingrid.

Kissing her is like that.

No, nothing is better than the way Ingrids’s lips taste; the way her breath sounds, low and content in his ear, the way her legs brush against his. He’s sure of it. 


	10. international

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im so dumb

“Why do you want to go to australia?” Ingrid asked, furrowing her brows.

Sylvain shrugged in response. “I heard there were emus.”

“That’s why we’re spending thousands of dollars and a week of PTO?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’m in.”

Felix and Dimitri refused on principle, and none of the rest were available, so Ingrid and Sylvain took the trip to the former british colony alone, arriving at the airport together and waiting through the short security line with a single carry-on bag each.

The overnight flight was a good opportunity for Sylvain to flirt with the flight attendants, much to Ingrid’s dismay. She had to slap him on the shoulder several times, though the free drinks that came with Sylvain’s smooth tongue weren't so bad.

When they landed and got to their airbnb, Sylvain began by stripping down to his underwear and putting on a swimsuit. He’d picked a home with a pool and, between the terrible heat and having been cooped up for the better part of 16 hours, he was ready for a stretch.

Ingrid paid it no mind. It was nice that he felt comfortable around her, but it was annoying that he didn’t even ask if she wanted to join. She would have - and would have made a show of it. Sylvain was being dense these days, and Ingrid was feeling brave from the lack of sleep during the flight.

Instead, Sylvian would have to suffer alone. Ingrid came into the bedroom, tactically leaving the windows open as she changed into a comfortable shirt and fell asleep. 

She couldn’t tell whether Sylvain was looking or not, until she heard a splashing sound and Sylvain’s gruff, “ow.”

That evening, out on the town at dinner, Sylvain begged her to visit the petting zoo that he’d found on google maps. She’d acquiesced, in exchange for eating at an all you can eat bbq place she’d found on yelp.

It was at the petting zoo Sylvain finally came face to face with an emu.

“That’s…. Not what I expected,” he said, eyes locked onto it.

“What did you expect? It’s a bird.”

“It’s a large bird.”

The emu pecked at Sylvain’s hand, and Sylvain, still pondering the creature in front of him, allowed it. The emu dragged Sylvain’s hand towards Ingrid, forcing him to step towards her. Then, the emu went for Ingrid’s hand. She quickly pulled it away, but the emu [warbled loudly and flapped its wings until she gave it her hand](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rrsrjYywY6Y).

Sylvain’s hand was still in the air, in shock at the reality of the bird he had found, and the emu dragged their hands together until they figured out it wanted them to hold hands.

Ingrid smiled at Sylvain, who was blushing brightly.

“You didn’t think I went on this vacation just because we’re friends did you?”

“Did you like, make plans with this bird or something?” he asked, scratching the back of his head with his free hand

“I think the bird knew what was going on. Now feed me.”

“Okay Ing. Thanks for coming on vacation with me,” he said, tightening the grip on her hands and waving the emu goodbye. 


	11. a gentle breeze...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i tried to make this as T rated as possible but writing teenagers is really challenging and i hope its funny/amusing and not.... you know.... creepy
> 
> featuring teenage boys and gentle breezes

Garreg Mach in the spring was, for Sylvain, the most amazing time. As the sun finally warmed the monastery, leaving the dregs of winter behind, Sylvain could finally appreciate the toned, strong figures of his female classmates, wearing skirts and their uniform blouses instead of thick coats and scarves.

No time was more evident than during training. Sylvain watched as Dorothea slashed her training sword, skirt lifting a few inches into the air. When she was done, she gave Sylvain a smirk and stuck her tongue out at him. Clearly she knew what she was doing. Over to the side, Mercedes was casting a spell, and he couldn’t help but notice her hair draped right over the chest.

It wasn’t that Sylvain made a habit of checking out his classmates. No, he flirted far and wide with ladies from the other classes of Garreg Mach and the local town. But there was something in the air today, because he couldn’t help himself.

Unfortunately, it meant he couldn’t help watching Ingrid either. She was finishing up her stretching routine on the floor, and Sylvain was to be her sparring partner. He tried his best to look off and into the distance, but he felt the soft blush creeping on his face despite his best efforts not to notice her legs extended out in front of her. 

It was ridiculous! Ingrid was the most modest woman at Garreg Mach - she wore leggings in the summer, for Sothis’ sake. She was also his best friend, and firmly in the  _ do not flirt _ category. Still, Sylvain couldn’t help but watch her blonde braid hanging over her knees as she stretched her hamstrings out, preparing to spar.

She stood up, flipped her hair back behind her head, and Sylvain felt the gentlest breeze in the world glide right in front of him. He moved to stand and-

_ Oh fuck _ . 

Immediately sat down and covered his crotch with his training sword. 

* * *

Sylvain was, if nothing else, an incorrigible flirt. The gaze he leveled at anything with long hair or boobs was nauseating. So, to realize that he was staring right at her with the same glazed over eyes as when he was flirting with some poor girl from town made the annoyed itch in the back of her head grow a dozenfold. It was the same itch that she felt whenever she had to clean up after his poorly thought out flirting messes.

Worse, they were about to spar. Sylvain was certainly taking his time. She’d stood and was going through sword stances by now, and he was still sitting on the bench, sword in his lap, blush on his face. He was doing his best to stare down at the ground and Ingrid wondered why he was stalling.

“Let’s go Sylvain,” she called over.

Sylvain’s eyes snapped to her with a wild look and a furious shake of the head, so Ingrid came closer, hoping to pull him to the center of the arena to get their spar over with. She could beat Sylvain with the sword a dozen times over and she was eager to get a real challenge from Felix or someone else later.

But as she approached, she realized Sylvain was keeping his legs clenched against each other, and with every step, Sylvain stiffened his posture even more.

By the time she was right in front of him, Sylvain was doing everything but meeting her gaze. She knelt down to his eye level and Sylvain’s eyes went wider than she’d ever seen; he immediately fell backwards off of the bench and power walked out of the room, leaving Ingrid wondering what the hell had gotten into him.

Oh well - more time to spar with someone who knew how to wield a sword. 


	12. fluff for night!

Sylvian’s never looked good in tweed. It reminds him too much of the kinds of things his father used to wear - ugly, scratchy old things that fit boxy, even for Margrave Gautier’s wide frame. 

But when Ingrid asks for something, he says _yes dear_ like a good husband and tonight she’s asked him to be as professor-like as possible so that she can flaunt him around during their children’s parent teacher conferences. So tweed he wears - complete with elbow patches and the thickest rimmed glasses he could find in his collection - and off they go to high school.

He doesn’t shave that morning, either, which he thinks is a nice touch. He leaves before Ingrid wakes up, determined to finish the day’s worth of grading and lectures and one-on-ones with his graduate students before picking the kids up at 3. He finds it amusing that they’re returning with the same kids just a few hours later, but says nothing on the car ride home.

Their son says nothing too - he takes after his father and does his best to hide the trouble he gets into at school.

Their daughter tells on him anyway and watches her poor 15 year old brother, the spitting image of Sylvain at the same age except for his green eyes, crash and burn at his attempts to woo the girls in his class. She has her own problems, though neither Sylvain nor Ingrid claim to know anything about the way she gets into a few too many fights alongside Felix’s kid.

Sylvain looks over at his kids, eyes glued to their phones in the back seat of the SUV, and laughs. Well, at least they’d turn out better than he did at that age. God forbid.

By the time they make it home, the kids have gone to shower, and Sylvian’s had a minute to find his wife and kiss her, he figures out exactly why Ingrid wanted him to wear his damn professor’s outfit. He’s normally content to wear a loose shirt and jeans - his students think him the cool professor, especially in contrast to the pictures they see of Ingrid in mostly business wear because of her government job.

Sylvian’s a Political Science professor, but it’s his wife that fields all the questions whenever he opens up Q&A, which is why he never does it.

No, Ingrid wants him in rustic tweed and corduroy so that the PTA ladies won’t look anywhere near him. That was it, that’s the only reason, and Sylvain says absolutely nothing as they walk through the halls of the high school, following their kids around their classes.

Only one teacher gives any trouble, and it’s the one their son talks back to too often. It’s not his fault; the teacher seems set on being right about AP Government and, when your parents both work _in_ Government or you’ve been literally in the middle of the Palace as government is being dealt with and you’re exactly 15 years old with no filter, of course you’ll call out when something’s wrong. Or so he says.

Either way, it’s nice to see Ingrid flex her position just enough to make the teacher squirm before chewing the boy out in front of his teacher, equalizing their dynamic and making them both afraid of mama Galatea-Gautier. 

They go out for ice cream for the habit and, as the kids decide they want to kick a football around at the park, Sylvain finds out the other reason Ingrid wanted him to wear the damn jacket.

He’s glad he didn’t shave in the end. Almost two decades of marriage and he’s figured out the little things that Ingrid enjoys: his lips against hers, and the scratch of his beard against her chin. May the little things never change.

**Author's Note:**

> what even


End file.
